Steelflower Page 9

  I went out through my room and down the long red carpeted hall to the communal bathing room, unwinding my braids as I went.

  It was time for a long, hot soak, and some brooding.

  Chapter 15

  A Prince’s Name

  I lolled against the stone rim of the sunken tub, hot water easing aches and pains I had barely known existed. The bruise on my right thigh was the size of my spread hand, turning a deep unwholesome purple. Stone was slick and warm with the heat of constant baths, steam hung in the air. The walls were mosaics of the Shelt, fishes and artistic treatments of other sea life in the freetown style, elongated and interlocking. Other tubs sat behind screens; the lamps glowed mellow.

  Twas close to paradise.

  My eyes closed, and my hair unraveled on the surface of the water. Communal bathing is one thing I have always been fond of, even among the G’mai. When everyone was drowsy with hot water, nobody was busy shunning me. It was the one time I had been able to relax among my kin.

  Someone else slid into the water. Heat lapped my skin. I opened an eye to see Darik settling back on the opposite side of the circular tub, sighing in relief. “The barbarian should be along. He is scrubbing at mud. Perhaps he will choose another tub, if they have one large enough.”

  “He might squeeze into this one.” Color rose in my cheeks. Twas only the heat. I have bathed with hundreds of people, men, women, eunuchs, children. One more was nothing to make me blush.

  I watched Darik under my lowered lashes.

  His hair plastered to his forehead, strips of darkness, and the wound on his shoulder was closing well. G’mai are quick healers. He had shaved, and the scar across his throat flushed. A palace coup? A rebellion?

  “An’Anjalisiman Kaialitaa imr-Anoritaa, Anjalismir-hai,” I said formally in G’mai. “A pleasure and honor to meet you.” I used the inflection reserved for greeting royalty. It was as close to an accusation as I could tread without open rudeness.

  His face went through surprise, embarrassment, and finally settled on something I could not name. “Tar-Amyirak Adarikaan imr-dr’Emeryn, Dragaemir-hai. An even greater pleasure to meet you, adai’mi.”

  He used the same inflection. The way a royal s’tarei would formally address his adai. I stifled the bite of annoyance.

  “You should have spoken of your House.” I tried not to sound hurt.

  The lamplight touched his slick dark hair, ran over his shoulders. “Tis a long, complex story, we had not the time. You were intent on our survival.”

  It was reasonable, I supposed. And I had not wanted to tell him my own name. “Who are you, then? I never heard of a Dragaemir prince born of Emeryn—she was the queen’s sister, no?” I could only guess, since the queen had only one sibling, and she had died in my childhood of the same summer fever season that took my mother. I vaguely remembered hearing of the mourning…and whispers of something else, that the queen’s sister had not died of the rampant fever but of poison.

  Twas merely rumor. We do not kill adai. It is the greatest sin imaginable.

  He shrugged, his jaw firming and something suspiciously like well-banked anger flickering in his eyes. “The queen disliked her younger sister. I was not allowed the Dragaemir name until four summers ago, at the K’nea Pass.” He was back to the intimate inflection. It really was more like singing than speaking, in G’mai. “The Hatai attacked, and I helped to drive them back. I was allowed to carry my name afterward. My mother would have been pleased.” His mouth turned down a little at the corners.

  Adarikaan. It meant shining blade. A fine name for him.

  “Adarikaan.” I tried the name, in the formal inflection. “A fine name for a prince.”

  His eyes half-closed, whether from heat or wanting to hide his anger, I could not tell. “Kaialitaa. A fine name for an adai.”

  “I am not your adai.” The dauq’adai made a liar of me, shimmering under the water as if I was. The traitorous warmth of it pulsed against my skin.

  “What would you lose if you were? I wish never to see the palace again, Kaia’li. I could spend the rest of my life as a sellsword, if you liked. I am valuable, trained in strategy and tactics. Perhaps I could even thieve.”

  It was a faint comfort, to know he had set his mind so. “I have no Power. I am not even properly of the People.”

  He sighed, a long weary sound. Our voices bounced off tile, parted the billows of steam. “Are you so certain? What happened during your Test?”

  I shrugged. Ripples slid through the water. Every move I made would brush his skin. The intimacy was unwelcome, and I could not help wanting it. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing. The Yada’Adais bade me stand and watch other Tests—I saw all the glitters and stirrings in the air around my agemates. Nothing happened during mine.” Old hurt rose in my throat, I swallowed it.

  “Is that what you think? The adai cannot see the light, when she is in the Test. Only the Yada’Adais can. If she let you see the Tests of your agemates, she was perhaps grooming you for an apprenticeship. How could you think otherwise?” He sounded eminently reasonable. “You have Power, Kaia’li. The Seeker would not heal itself otherwise. It was fading when you took it, and you have kept it whole and well, even reversed its fading. Can you truly say you have no Power?”

  The languor induced by hot water and finally being clean faded, along with my good temper. “I am not interested, prince. I have my own life, I have my own sword, and I neither need nor want a Dragaemir s’tarei.”

  “It matters little,” he returned, with a shadow of annoyance finally tinting his voice. “I do not need a hotheaded noble adai with a tongue sharper than my dotanii and foul as a foreigner’s, as well.”

  “I did not ask to be saddled with your Seeker. Why have you done this to me?” The pleasantness of the bath spilled away. I never thought to see the day a bath could be ruined.

  An attendant glided into the room. A welcome distraction.

  “I did not ask for this either,” he said softly, using the intimate inflection. “I was ready to die. But the gods have other ideas, it seems.”

  “Pardon, lady,” the bath attendant said in commontongue. She wore the short white tunic of the baths, belted with a white cord. “Doryen Innkeeper sends word the table is laid in your room.”

  “My thanks,” I replied in commontongue. The syllables felt harsh and grating in my mouth, after the fluidity of G’mai. I moved from the stone seat, slowly, half-swimming, my hair raying out behind me. I thought perhaps I should cut it, chop it short like a Pesh bondslave’s. That would be a sight.

  A G’mai woman rarely cut her hair, except for mourning. What would I be mourning if I sheared myself now?

  Darik moved, following. Had the man no sense? “I wonder what the barbarian does now.”

  “Perhaps already at dinner.” I yawned again, reaching the stone steps, too tired to keep ill humor for long. Water sluiced free of my skin. “Chewing on the table. Perhaps he does not like baths.” Take this truce, prince. I will not offer it again.

  “Why did you pick his pocket, Kaia’li?”

  I took a drycloth from the attendant, submitted to her chafing at my hair with another cloth. Perhaps he would grow weary and leave me to myself. I could afford that hope. “I was drunk. If I knew this was to happen, I would have left his pockets unplundered.”

  “Then I am glad you did not know.”

  I could make no reply to that without striking him. So I let it be.

  Chapter 16

  The Barbarian Sacrifice

  Redfist had waited for us, at the table set in the room the two men would share. He shifted uncomfortably on his chair—it was the only one large enough to accommodate him. “Ye twain took long enough. I near starved t’death.”

  The room held two beds, a table and chairs, a fireplace with a cushioned chair, and a few floorpillows. A Baiiar rug hung on the wall, cheerful reds and oranges accenting red Shainakh bedspreads.

  My hair lay against my back, a heavy damp weight. “Ha
-ya, barbarian, begin your feast. The fare is good here. My thanks for your courtesy.” I am surprised you are not taking chunks out of the table to whet your hunger, friend.

  His green eyes traveled down my short robe, touched my legs. The edge of the bruise from the Hain guard was visible under the white cotton hem. Darik had seen it too, and said nothing. “Briyde’s tits, lass, where did ye find that mark?”

  “A Hain. One of the cadre sent to fetch you. Twas only a kick, he was dead soon enough.” I settled myself on a stool and reached to pour a cup of wine. I would perhaps visit the commonroom later, and have a losing duel with a tankard of mead. If a drinking bout started this madness, a drinking bout might end it. “By the by, why were the Hain after you?”

  “I think twas a festival of theirs I disturbed. How was I to know?” He shrugged, picked up a poppadum, slipped it into his mouth. Chewed with great and noisy relish.

  A number of things became clear. “Are you the one that ran about bellowing during the Sun’s Beneficence?” Laughter bubbled up, I sought to swallow it. “Naked and painted blue, twas how the rumor ran.”

  “Ye would yell too, lass, if ye had found yerself a’the mercy of a bunch of Hain bent on sacrificin’ ye to their dark god.” His face darkened like the god of thunder's. “Drugged me beer, they did, an’ when I woke up—”

  Curiosity took advantage of me. “How did you know they had drugged your beer?” This is a fine tale. I swallowed more laughter, composed my face. “What did the priests look like?”

  “Little black-robed things—” He stopped, mystified, when I put my head down on the table and laughed fit to choke.

  I could guess the tale now. He had run afoul of the Dark Sun sect. One of their myths was the slaying of primal giants by their Sunlord. Perhaps they had drugged him, or more likely he had been dead drunk when they took him. The idea of six or seven short stocky Hain seeking to maneuver the barbarian’s limp body through the streets, perhaps on a horsecart, was enough to make me fair die with mirth.

  “Tisnae funny, lass,” Redfist said stiffly, which only made me chuckle harder. I sounded like a girl again. “I could hae died. They were about to start with me stones.”

  I waved my hands, helplessly. That story had been the cause of a great deal of merriment among taverngoers. No wonder the Hain were chasing him. Disturbing the Sun’s Beneficence would have been tantamount to spitting on their god. The thought of a Redfist streaked blue with Hain ritual paints and bursting out of a Dark Sun temple to bellow in the streets was too much. Then, if Darik had killed the Guards responsible for hunting down the barbarian, things would have rapidly run out of hand.

  When I finally calmed, wiping at my streaming eyes, both of the men were staring at me. “Well.” I picked up a pair of eating-picks. “Let us break our fast. Tis a wonderful story, Redfist, for reasons I shall tell you later.” I scooped up a rice ball and some pickled fish, and took a dish of fried stretchlegs as well. “Much later.”

  “Why did ye attack the Hain in that tavern, lass?” Redfist set to with a will.

  I shrugged, savoring my rice. “I was asleep, and by the time I woke, I was already fighting. I did not stop to ask questions.” I picked up some pickled fish with the eating picks, dipped it in the piri-sauce. Heavenly. “I did pick your pocket, it only seemed fair to do you a good turn.”

  “Am right glad ye did, too.”

  Darik was too busy eating to make much conversation. We settled down to drinking the wine and filling our bellies. Most of the food was simple—rice, pickled fish, poppadums, a sheksfin soup, a dish of mushrooms cooked with barley and garlinroot—but there was no shortage, and it was well seasoned. There was a dish of fresh baia, too, reminding me of Darik’s shoulder, hidden under the robe. The gash was already healing, itching in my own flesh.

  At last, comfortably full, I settled back on my stool and took a long draft of wine. Darik watched me, holding his goblet gracefully, and the Skaialan belched and continued eating poppadums. “Wonderful.” I blinked, tasting the garlinroot again. At the moment, clean and warm and with a full belly, there was nothing more in life to want.

  A sellsword’s pleasure, maybe, but born of too many nights spent hungry. It is a clean pleasure, and a safe one.

  “Very good,” Darik said. “I have not eaten this well since Garmindor.”

  “You came through Garmindor?” My ears prickled to hear that name. “Is there news of a town called Sidai?”

  He shrugged. “I spoke to none in that city. Why?”

  “I did some work there.” I remembered the shrieks and the cursing, the crack of a whip, and the gold coins in my hands, slippery with blood. And the stench of the beast in the cave. “Tis perhaps not safe to return yet. I simply wondered.”

  “Ah.” He nodded, as if he understood. His hair had started to dry, looking less slick and more like silk. Black silk. “What comes next, Kaia’li?”

  I stretched, yawning. “Next, I go change into some real clothes, and perhaps visit the commonroom. I have not played at dice for a good moonturn, my luck should be ready for me.” And if I win a few rounds and get drunk enough, I might be able to forget all this. Or wake up in Hain and find it all a dream.

  “I’m for bed,” Redfist said. “As soon as I finish me dinner.”

  How could you eat more, large one? I swallowed the words, kept them back with a pained smile. The barbarian did not notice.

  “I shall accompany you.” Darik pushed his chair back, as if to stand.

  I shook my head. “Your clothes will not be dry until tomorrow, unless the staff has grown witches while I was away. I have nothing to fit you, either.”

  His jaw had turned to stubbornness itself. “Then I must ask you to remain here. We have much to speak of. Please.”

  I felt the anger rise, strangled it. “We have nothing to speak—”

  “We do.” His eyes were level, dark and intent. “Please, Kaia’li.”

  I shrugged. “Very well.” I could not say it gracefully. I rose, the legs of my stool scraping on the floor. The crackling of the fire suddenly sounded very loud. Now that they were clean it was faintly pleasant to be in the company of men again. “Bring the wine. Safe dreaming, Redfist.”

  “Aye, lass, and yourself,” he replied. He looked highly amused, and at my expense too.

  I had a faint idea of what was coming, and braced myself for it as for any storm. Still, I would not have minded a few more days of grace.

  Chapter 17

  Oathsworn

  I found Darik had moved his weapons into my room, and was about to protest when he made the first cointoss. “As long as I travel with you, I do so as your s’tarei. You would not ask your s’tarei to sleep in another room, would you?”

  I searched for something appropriate to say, found nothing, and settled on, “I do not have a s’tarei. Therefore, you are not my s’tarei. I thought twas clear enough even for you.”

  “You still insist?” A humorless grin stretched his mouth, and his hands were tense. I wondered if he would try to strike me, discarded the thought. A s’tarei did not behave so. “You try my patience.”

  “And you try mine, G’mai,” I returned harshly, snatching up my purse from the bed and scooping out my comb. I dropped onto the cushioned chair by the fireplace and began to work at my tangled hair.

  Darik watched this, standing across the fireplace, his back to the window. I worked at a particularly bad tangle and hissed a sellsword’s curse.

  The struggle for his temper filled the room with crackling silence. Finally, he mastered himself with a long, deep breath. “Kaialitaa, do you deny me as s’tarei?”

  The question was formal and archaic, part of the legal code. I stopped combing and stared at him. For him to ask meant that he assumed I was his adai; indeed, that he had acknowledged me as his twin. My heart leapt into my throat.

  Why could you not have come to me with such a question years ago, G’mai? It was utterly useless.

  “I am not your adai.�
� I spoke as gently as I could. “You must be mistaken.” Leave me be, princeling. What have I done to earn this pain from you? I gave up the Blessed Lands, I gave up my House and my birthright, I even gave up my name. Who are you to offer me what I cannot have?

  “I am not mistaken. The dauq’adai chose you, and I have seen enough to know you are honorable—” His cheeks flamed, his eyes glittering. He looked shamed. Good. Perhaps he would become angry and leave me be.

  No, my luck with him was running bad. “I am honorable. I cannot guess why you choose to play such a cruel game with me. Answer me this, Dragaemir, what happens when you meet your true adai? How will you extricate yourself from that thornpatch? From what Doryen says, there are G’mai searching for you, spreading the story of a prince who survived a palace coup and disappeared—”

  His voice cut across mine. “I ‘disappeared’ because as I lay in bed feverish and suffering, I was granted the ilel’adai. When I recovered from fever and the vision of my twin, I went to the Yada’Adais of the palace and requested a dauq’adai. I was given one at Dravairehai Temple, because any fool could see the geas was upon me. The Seeker led me here, to the edge of the world, to a G’mai adai who talks like a noble one moment and a guttersnipe the next—”

  I do not think he realized he was shouting. The window threatened to rattle under the force of his voice.

  “You have not answered the question,” I reminded him silkily. Or as silkily as I could while shouting myself. “What happens when you find your true adai?”

  “If I am wrong in this, I will let you kill me or I will take the sadaru.”

  I believed him. There was no reason to lie. His face was pale under its tone and drawn as tight as I had ever seen it. He half-turned, stared at the window as if it offended him.